


I Comb the Crowd and Pick You Out

by InfntyOnHgh



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Arma Angelus Era, Fanboy!Patrick Stump, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Green Day fans forgive me please :), M/M, Not Beta Read, Pete might or might not be a creepy stalker, Rock Star!Pete Wentz, YES the title is long but this is FOB fandom what do you expect, a lot of fob song references if you squint, also let's pretend Pete CAN drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfntyOnHgh/pseuds/InfntyOnHgh
Summary: for Reala's prompt:AU - Patrick went to Arma Anglus's shows a lot. He liked Pete but never go find him due to the principle of "no meeting rock star in person". So one day Pete find him...
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	I Comb the Crowd and Pick You Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rloveution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rloveution/gifts).
  * A translation of [I Comb The Crowd And Pick You Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612531) by [InfntyOnHgh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfntyOnHgh/pseuds/InfntyOnHgh). 



> Welcome!  
> This is actually a translation of a fic I wrote for Reala's a year ago.  
> I still think this is the best thing I've written so I thought why not turn it into English and share with more people? 
> 
> But I do have to warn you that I'm not particularly used to write in English, and there might be weird phrases or grammar mistakes, etc. Please feel free to point out anything that seems out of place to you in the comments.
> 
> That being said, I hope you do enjoy it ;)

Months ago, Patrick walked into this tiny but crowded bar for the first time, to see the first ever gig in his life. It was also the first time he saw the _Legend of Chicago underground hardcore scene:_ Pete Wentz. Of course, it was not the first time he’s heard that name—in Glenview High, even the least interested in music have heard some of his “stories”.

Months ago, Patrick stood far in the back. Right next to that shitty amp. He narrowed his eyes, staring at Pete who was screaming into the mic. He wondered did anyone really understand what the song is about, or are they just headbanging to the awful rhythm. Not that these lyrics are very good. ( _Come on_ , of course seventeen-year-old Patrick thought he could write better) But he still listened closely.

Weeks ago, he had went to a few show of Arma. And this time, he traded a crumpled ten dollars for a logo-tee and, a poster of Pete Wentz himself.

Weeks ago, he was familiar with Pete’s every single word, he started screaming along with the crowd, tossing Pete’s words back at him. Although most of the breakup songs are quite confusing, Patrick had to admit that he had never met anyone who can write stuff like this.

Days ago, Patrick started to write down scores in his Physics notebook. (Not because of Pete, okay, Physics is BORING.)He stared blankly at the blackboard, playing guitar in his mind, trying to imagine what would it be like if Pete’s words were in a _real song._

Days ago, Patrick thought he’s a anonymous face in the crowd. However, he had underestimated Pete’s ability of recognizing people.

So, he is now standing face to face with _the_ Pete Wentz. Seconds ago, there was an awkward chaos of yelling, shoulder patting and arms grabbing. (It’s not his fault that he thought it was another Patrick!) Patrick had never been this close to Pete. Hell, he’d never even been to the front row. That’s a place way too dangerous for tiny human like himself. But here he is, with his famous Cheshire smile, and the exact same clothes he wore in the poster on Patrick’s bedroom door.

Pete smiled again, showing off more shiny teeth. “Patrick, right?”

Patrick was terrified, not sure which question to ask first: “Are you stalking me?” or “How did you write lyrics like that?”

But Pete freed him from choosing. “Call me Pete.” He offered his left hand to Patrick, who held it hesitantly.

Pete’s hand was surprisingly warm, fingertips calloused from all the bass-playing. And Patrick has the matching ones. Afraid that he wouldn’t want to let go if he hold on any longer, Patrick drew back his hand quickly.

“Um...”Pete put down his hand awkwardly. _Damn!_ he cursed to himself, _handshaking? Can you be more stupid?_ THAT is not his best trick, even worst than those awful pick-up lines.

Pete don’t know how many times this jailbait boy has came to his show when he first noticed him. But since then, he could always spotted the pink-lips blondie in the crowd. Observing him is an amusement, Pete discovered. He always sneaks in silently before the show starts, then stands somewhere hard-to-notice. But as long as the show starts, everything changes. He change into... wow. Pete could see, unlike the way too many drunk assholes in here, that kid really loves music. Once the music starts, something in the boy seems to be awaken, and he dances. His soft blonde hair flows around with his movement. His moves are not that good, but Pete can’t resist looking at him. _Like a magnet,_ Pete thought, _maybe we are a pair of magnets._

At first, Pete just occasionally cast a look at the boy. But somehow, seeing him with an Arma T-shirt in the pit made Pete’s blood rushed downward. Why, Pete wasn’t sure. But he was sure that, he wanted this boy.

Finding out the boy’s name was not easy. He mostly come to shows alone. But how could that stop _Pete Wentz the Great Stalker?_ Of course he succeed, and the next step of his Great Plan was to stopped the blondie after one of his shows. That was not easy either. The kid was like a shadow. Many times Pete had jumped down the stage in such a rush that he almost forgot to unplug the bass. Finally the lucky day arrived, he spotted the lovely figure. Pete frantically made his way through the crowd while shouting his name. He reached him eventually but obviously the kid wasn’t expecting anyone, a tap on the shoulder could not stop him marching towards the door. Pete couldn’t think of anything to do but to grab his arm. He yanked so hard the kid was spun around by his force.

Apparently, Pete hadn’t really thought about the third step of his Great Plan. Thus occurred the awkward scene.

Patrick stared at Pete incredulously. _Is this guy blushing? That’s rare._ So he broke the silent first, “What do you want?”

“Right,” Pete scratched his head, “um, we are having a after party. Would you like to come?”

“School tomorrow,” Patrick shrugged.

Oh. Pete stared at the floor, waiting for some sort of hole to magically appear and swallow him up. He was so dumb. Of course Patrick was in high school, anyone with a normal eyesight could see that. _But no one saw that this kid shine bright like a diamond._ Pete argued with his mind.

“How ‘bout I drive you home then?” Pete frowned at his own words. _Really, Pete Wentz? If the stalking was not creepy enough to scare him away this would definitely do it._

But surprisingly, Patrick replied, “A‘right, where’s your car?”

And Pete grinned the biggest grin in human history.

When they were seated nicely in the car and had their safety-belts fastened, Pete still had that stupid smile on his face.

After driving in the silence for a while, they both started, “Got any free time this Saturday?” “I heard you’ve got many girlfriends?”

“WHAT?!” “Ehh?”

Patrick gave up. This situation was too complicated for his Epinephrine-dosed brain to process. He pursed his lips into a thin line, turned away to stare at the blinking streetlights.

Pete felt desperate. If you don’t know what to say first-time meeting somebody, how the hell are you gonna spend your whole life with them? Then he made the most wise decision—he turned on the radio.

Loud-enough-to-be-deafening Green Day filled up the car, Pete scrambled to turn down the volume. He turned to look at Patrick, just able to catch the exciting expression on the blondie’s face.

“You listen to Green Day?” Patrick asked.

“In fact, this album was what inspired me to be in a band.” Pete recalled the first time he listened to Dookie. It was a Friday afternoon, in his friend Sam’s house. He remembered how his blood boiled when Billie Joe’s voice came out of CD player. No, he remembered how Tré’s drumbeats pondered through his veins the second _Welcome to the Paradise_ began to play, mixing along with the strings, clashing, growling. He remembered being recognized for the first time, realizing “I’m not alone”. And for the first time, he understood the power of music, the power of... lyrics.

“Bet your favorite is Coming Clean.” Patrick smiled.

“Um... actually I love each one of them.” That was true. He could not decide which is his favorite. Couldn’t even decide on the _least_ favorite.

“Me too!” Patrick exclaimed, “I was only 12 when I first heard it? And it was on a cassette. The feeling was wild you know? I had never listened to anything like this, so punk yet so musical! Oh and these lyrics! God I wish I could write something like that.” Pete couldn’t tear his eyes away: Patrick is way too attracting when he’s talking about music. Pete had to win his heart ASAP (or he might not be able to contain himself anymore, and launch at Patrick).

“So, what instrument do you play?” Pete asked, hoping that does not considered as a dumb question.

“More than you can imagine.” Patrick winked at him. And Pete was sure he’d fall in love right there. He did not know that was possible. Fall in love and know instantly? That’s crazy.

“Oh! Turn left on the next block, we’re almost there.”

Moonlight shone through the windshield, casting everything in a soft light. Pete parked the car, turned around to look into Patrick’s blue green eyes. Under the moonlight, they reminded him of waves crushing on the golden beach, sunset painting the sky at dusk. It was the most gorgeous Starry Night he’d ever seen. If this was a dream, he would like to live in it forever and never wake up again.

Patrick, being stared so blatantly, blushed a little. “I have to go,” he softly reminded Pete. The latter blinked blankly for a few seconds, and grasped at Patrick’s arm again. “Hey, lend me your hand.” Pete said.

“Hun?” Patrick reached out his hand despite of himself. Pete turned it over and trail the lines in Patrick’s palm with his index. “Hey, ticklish.” Patrick laughed. Pete smiled back, dug out a sharpie from his pocket and wrote a string of number in his hand. At the finishing he signed _“Peter Pan”._

“Don’t lose it, I never give out my number easily.” he smiles, closing Patrick’s hand into a fist,

Patrick clenched his fist and smiled back. He then leaned forward swiftly and pecked on Pete’s cheek. “Good night then, ‘Peter Pan’,” he opened the door but turned around again, “Um, see you on Saturday I guess?”

Pete’s smile lit up everything around them. “See ya,” He said delightfully, watching his angel walked off under the beautiful moonlight.

 _Saturday,_ he thought hopefully. Not any other day in the week is going to be able to compare to Saturday.

-end


End file.
